Resonance
by fiesa
Summary: "Isn't it uncomfortable, having someone else in your head?" OneShot/Drabble collection. All characters. After the events of the season 1 finale.


**Resonance**

 _Summary: "Isn't it uncomfortable, having someone else in your head?" OneShot/Drabble collection. All characters. After the events of the season 1 finale._

 _Warning: Fractured. Plotless. OneShot._

 _Set: After the season 1 finale._

 _Disclaimer: Standards apply._

* * *

 _i. Berlin_

At some point they've started to move around each other with extreme caution. It's one of these things everyone notices but nobody dares to talk about and pushing away and burying the thought is impossible. They have reached the state when they don't have to think about each other to know what the other is feeling: it's just there, this sense of completion.

Eight people. Eight in one.

Kala and Wolfgang are only two of them, but there are the shadow emotions of six _(five)_ other people behind them. You can't lie to yourself when you already know better.

"It's not raining today."

He almost smiles – a smirk, the tug of a corner of his lips – and her heart jumps irrationally.

"I don't know what you've heard about Germany, but we have a summer season, too."

"Really? What's it like?"

"Yeah, usually it's, like, three days in August."

He can't help himself: he genuinely smiles at her stricken expression. Kala catches on quickly.

"Liar."

"Not quite, but almost. This year's summer isn't that spectacular, really."

They watch the people pass by the train station. _Next Stop: Friedrichsstraße._ An old woman walking her equally old dog drifts towards them, the dog sniffs in Kala's general direction and sneezes. Another train thunders past.

 _Pause._

They are caught in an ongoing conversation that stops and continues from the same point, as if they never paused at all.

 _Play._

Darkness, rain, an endless road. Blue signs speed past. In Bombay, she thinks, going at this speed is suicide, and Wolfgang snorts at her thoughts. For a while, they lean back. The silent rumbling of the car is soothing, and Kala slowly relaxes.

"What happens now?"

It's unclear who asked the question. None of them answers. Maybe it was someone else.

"You're like, a doctor?" Wolfgang asks.

"A physician," Kala corrects. "And no. I'm a pharmacist."

"Neat. You'll be our resident pharmacist, then." He doesn't say: _I get the feeling we'll need your expertise soon, and often._ Both of them disregard the silent dread that comes with the words.

"What will you be?"

He shrugs. " _Keine Ahnung._ Dunno. The one who beats up other people?"

Her dark eyes are huge, Wolfgang thinks, and beautiful. Now, she looks sad. Not even a heartbeat later, the sensation washes through him and he immediately regrets his words. He doesn't want to hurt her. Her pain echoes through them like a tide, mixes with her confusion and fear, and doubles. Triples. Because her pain hurts him, too. Wolfgang tries to distract her (them).

"I mean, what have I got? Strength? Will is strong, too, and Sun. They can help."

"You're not only strong." She shakes her head vigorously, the tell-tale shine of tears in her eyes. Lately he makes her sad more than he makes her smile and he hates it. She is so much more beautiful when she laughs or when she glowers at him in anger, when her eyes spark and her face glows and she feels so, so _alive._ But right now she looks defeated, instead. Wolfgang can't say whether this is because of what they've been through recently, whether it is due to the… _situation_ … they are in right now or whether it is due to her empathy – due to what she feels for him. It probably is the latter: she was so strong when they fought, so beautiful. A few times Wolfgang had to tear his gaze away from her to focus on his own circumstances, his own fight. But separating his thoughts from hers is impossible.

"You're more."

Wolfgang looks at her – her expressive eyes, her dark hair. From the first moment he saw her he had known she was special. She had caught his gaze, again and again. Wolfgang had known many women. But Kala with her contrasting characteristics – her shyness and boldness, strength and softness (not weakness, never weakness) – Kala was one of a kind.

"Don't cry." He hears his own voice and it sounds strange to him. Too soft, somewhat raspy. "Hey. _Mädchen._ " Girl.

"I'm not crying."

Her stubbornness makes him smile, and finally, she looks at him. Her sight takes his breath away.

"Of course not."

She glowers at him. His usual reaction to a woman looking at him like that would be to lean forward and kiss her, but not with her. She's too precious – she's not _his._

"You _care_."

He turns towards the street again, embarrassed and strangely touched.

"You care for the people you love more than for yourself."

"You make it sound like that's something good," he snarks.

Kala glowers.

"It is."

Her fire makes him smile, again and again. Maybe she reminds him of Felix, sometimes. He can't even say why – she's not like Felix, not at all. Maybe it's the way she makes him feel when she is with him. Only Felix ever made him feel at ease in his presence, like it was okay being who he is. Like it didn't matter that his father was a violent drunkard; that he never did well in school; that he never would rise above what disapproving teacher and suspicious, arrogant grown-ups expected him to be. And he'd shown them they were right: he'd become what they had expected him to be. He'd killed his father, spent his youth brawling and shop-lifting and drifting and had grown to be a criminal safe-cracker who'd kill his cousin and uncle out of revenge. And he doesn't regret it. The only thing he regrets is that his past and present causes Kala to look that shocked, that disappointed, even if she tries to hide the expression on her face immediately. He regrets not taking her hand earlier. He regrets–

She touches his face, her warm hand the ghost of a touch in the darkness of the rented car (thank God for the foresight that made him acquire a fake ID). The only thing he can see when he looks at the passenger's seat are her eyes: dark and luminous. Their senses intertwine and he struggles with the double vision of the dark street and himself driving but he doesn't push her away. He can't. He can't look at her, either, but she doesn't let that deter her.

 _You care for us. We'll care for you. We're one._

It's not her voice alone promising this and Wolfgang thinks that–

* * *

 _ii. Reykjavík_

"Sorry. I know you were there, but I couldn't…"

She casts down her eyes. The woman on the other side of the mirror smiles.

"Don't worry. You were near-catatonic, we had to get you out."

"So you helped him all the way from Chicago to Reykjavík? Thank you."

"No need to thank me, really."

This could be awkward, she thinks, but it feels like…

They wander into the living room. Nomi picks up one of the picture frames and gazes at it. "There is no picture of my Dad and me. Not like this."

Riley watches her. It's an old picture, taken some time _before_. The thought of Magnus and Luna wrenches at her heart. It mingles with Nomi's anger and hurt and they feel six _(five)_ others flinch with the echoes of their pain. The answer is immediate: Lito's concern is warm and absolute, Capheus' optimism makes them smile, Kala wraps them into the ghost of an embrace, Wolfgang offers his strength and Sun her calm. But there is something that is missing. A sense of settlement, of inner peace, the voice that told Nomi what the cops that were cornering her would do before they did it, the guiding whisper in Capheus' ear when he encountered the gang members closing in on his bus. The warm weight of a hand on Wolfgang's shoulder in the blood and carnage of his uncle's house. It feels like phantom pain in a phantom limb none of them ever knew they had and the realization that they are not complete without each other, won't ever be complete again outside the cluster, is heart-wrenching.

 _Will_ , Riley thinks. _Will._

 _Distract her,_ Sun mouths wordlessly. Capheus shakes his head. _No. Remember him._

Nomi gently touches Riley's hand. "You made a good team, out there."

"The cop and the fugitive?" The blonde woman laughs-sobs. " _You_ were the one who helped him most. And look where saving _me_ has landed _him_. He's out for most of the day."

 _Don't give up._ Like an infusion of warmth, directly to her heart: Lito urges her to fight for the one she loves. His newly-found optimism is hard to reconcile with the man who shared her despair on that mountain top: the one who wanted to kill himself in order to escape the quiet of his lonely apartment.

A whisper – nothing more than a fluttering touch, soft as a butterfly's wings – and Will's consciousness caresses hers. His fingers in her hand don't move, but she can feel his breath stir her hair as he whispers in her ear.

 _We're not defeated yet._

Nomi jerks as if she has touched an electric fence. Her surprise echoes through their link, mirrored, refracted and concentrated by the cluster. She reaches out for the other woman almost hesitantly.

"May I?"

Riley nods. Nomi's eyes soften as she closes in. At first Riley wants to shrink back. She is not used to physical nearness. Americans seem to have a completely different sense of personal space (not as apparently nonexistent as Mexicans, though, as far as she can tell) but still the distance between them when they talk is definitely smaller than she is used to. In the back of her head Will's consciousness lingers, full of love. Riley stills and waits, holds her breath until Nomi's forehead carefully connects with hers.

Surprise echoes through her, six-fold.

When Nomi withdraws again, the smile on her face is full of wonder. The sentiment dances between all of them, hums and vibrates, and Riley can feel a small smile grow on her face. Far away, on other corners of the world, six other people share their new-found wonder.

 _We can feel him through you._

Maybe… Maybe there is a way, Riley thinks, and allows herself to _hope._

* * *

 _iii. Ciudad de Mexico_

"Man."

Lito should be used to it by now. Besides, having Dani close is like constantly having a voice in your head, it's like his own personal cluster of three. Still: having Wolfgang in his apartment feels… _strange._

Unanticipated.

The German eyes his surroundings with a certain watchfulness. "Not bad."

"Yeah, well." Lito is glad Hernando and Dani are out – shopping, he remembers, and how clichéd is that? "My job pays well. That is, _paid_ well."

Wolfgang looks like he wants to say a lot of things. Lito is an actor: he lives other peoples' lives for money. It might be a reason why he is able to read them so well. The blond man obviously is fighting years and years of ingrained prejudices and cultural preconceptions. Lito wonders whether being homosexual is easier in Germany than it is in Mexico, whether the public is more open to people like him, or whether homosexual boys (or girls) growing up face the same emotional and physical ostracism he has gone through (and still encounters).

His musings echo through the cluster, impossible to hold back. His eyes meet Wolfgang's.

The feedback is like a physical sound. They've never even thought about this before: Lito's one of them, period. Only Will and Nomi are quiet: he's out, and this concerns her, too. Through all the mental white noise, Kala's voice is the most distinct. _So what?_ And that, coming from the devout Hindu among them, makes all of them smile. _We can't change our beliefs here and now. But we will, slowly._ It's a promise. _Besides, you're one of us._ Wolfgang snickers; all of them do when they understand why, reading his memories: _Do I know you? –Yeah, we had sex._ There's not even embarrassment. They are one.

And that's that.

 _Thank you._

And Lito has no words, so he joins Nomi in her silent gratitude.

"So, you fixed things?" Wolfgang's voice breaks through his musings. It only carries a faint edge of irony, so faint it's practically fond.

Lito looks around his apartment: it's a mess. There's pink goo all over the kitchen island, joined by discarded papers and empty bottles. Hernando took a look at the mess and turned very, very quiet, Lito had expected him to shake his head in disappointment but when he caught a glance at his boyfriend in the mirror he had only seen his blank, white features. Dani had raged, instead, and then, in true Dani form, had taken lead of the situation.

"Shopping. Groceries, a new lamp, pillows. Hernando, now. Lito: when we're back I expect this to be cleaned up. Burn everything, for all I care. Just don't burn down the apartment."

This, more than anything, told him that they truly were together again now. That second, the words had hovered on the tip of his tongue, wanting to be said so badly that he'd almost stumbled in order to say them.

 _This is not only me. There are more. If we're together, you have to know–_

"Ah." If he heard Lito's thoughts, Wolfgang's face gives away nothing. His glance is inquisitive, but he chooses to leave the topic where it has tumbled, unspoken, and continues on. His voice sounds amused. "Women."

"Mexican women," Lito adds, fervently. There are three cans left in the refrigerator, thankfully, it's still running. He pops one, then a second. "Have a beer."

"Don't you have a clean-up to do?"

"They won't be back soon."

They clink their cans together and drop onto the sofa.

Wolfgang jumps up again, looks at the pink goo on his jacket and shrugs it off wordlessly and _shift_ they're on an airplane, the sudden change in air pressure making Lito's ears close up. Or maybe he's imagining this.

"Verehrte Fluggäste, in Kürze beginnen wir den Landeanflug auf Keflavik International Airport…" The landing announcement is repeated in English. Lito stares at the can of beer in his own hand, fascinated, and then to Wolfgang's glass.

"Tomato juice? Now that's just evil stuff."

The German shrugs. "I ordered orange juice, but they misheard me."

They are quiet.

"I've never been to Iceland."

"Me neither."

"Probably ice and snow everywhere."

"No decent-looking women anywhere in sight, too."

"Hm-hm. Or men."

 _Hey,_ Riley protests. Sun doesn't look up from the book she is reading. _Don't fight, children._ Kala rolls her eyes, faking exasperation. They all tactfully ignore the dual stab of pain flashing down their link in opposing directions, meeting in the middle, amplifying. _I heard there are some strong, handsome fishermen out there,_ Nomi snickers. _And Icelandic women are beautiful._ Capheus, always the charmer. Riley fights a smile and loses.

 _Where do we go from here?_ Lito asks.

Nobody answers, but the silence is not filled with despair.

 _Forward._

Will's echo is faint, but there. All of them breathe a sigh of relief.

 _I have an idea,_ Nomi suggests. The cluster equivalent of putting their heads together to discuss feels far, far more intimate than anything else they could have done being in the same room.

* * *

 _iv. Nairobi_

The sound is different when he wakes up. Capheus expects children's voices and the almost unheard sound of hot sand, the muted tone of the large TV screen, the sound of his mother slowly rummaging on the far side of the room. Instead, he feels: cool air hitting his face, a heaviness in his limbs that has nothing to do with a day full of running and fighting because that day was a week ago, and he hears muted voices in the next room.

Pressure on his eyes. Capheus tries to open them and is encountered by a hoarse whisper that is not his own and yet familiar.

"No."

 _Don't look._

The shift is almost unconscious by now. One moment he is looking up at the dark insides of his eye lids, the next he stands in cool, bright patch of sunlight without the familiar heat it usually carries and looks down at the person lying underneath the covers.

"You've looked better, mate."

"You shouldn't be here."

"Whisper couldn't track Jonas when he was with you, couldn't he?"

"But you're here right now-"

And then there's heat and sound and familiar air, and Will collapses onto Capheus' sleeping couch and blinks into the daylight like it is the first he has seen in a long, long time. Riley's astonishment rings through them and Capheus feels Will reach back, calm her. She relents, a mixture of elation and worry running through her. Wolfgang's there, too. _Give him some time._ Nomi, Sun and Lito wave at him, their gladness to have him back with them ringing through the cluster. Will reaches back carefully, oh-so-carefully, and his joy at being there is permanently tinged with his terror he might give them away. He doesn't linger.

"I can't stay here."

"Just a bit." Capheus can see he needs the break, needs the time. Will's face is hollow and blanched, his eyes are haunted and his hands shake, minutely. The drugs, probably. But the strength in his eyes is undeniable. Wolfgang thinks Will might be the best of them and then corrects himself: every single one of them is better than he is. Kala's scream of outrage almost deafens them and then drops away as she drags him into a (almost) private conversation. Sun watches, protectiveness shining from her eyes.

Riley's worry returns, stronger. Nomi and Lito intervene and gently distract her, and then Capheus and Will are (almost) alone again.

The door opens and Capheus' mother enters.

"Mother, I told you I'd do that!" He protests and hurries to relieve her of the basket she is carrying. The woman stops to pat her son's cheek.

"I'm ill but not dead yet, darling. I can do some things by myself."

Capheus sighs as he places the basket down onto the ground next to their cooking place. "Please take care of yourself."

"Of course I will!" When she lifts the lid of a stewing pot, a delicious scent wafts through the small house.

Capheus smiles.

Will remembers: an empty home, a cold kitchen. Sandwiches and darkness and waiting. Waiting for the banging of a car door and heavy, irregular steps on the porch and the jangle of keys in the lock and on most days his father almost falls through the door and–

"Hey." The dark-skinned man nudges him slightly (and Will can _feel_ it, how is this possible, how?) and says, still facing his mother: "I'll be outside for a while. The bus needs some repairs."

Her see-off is cheerful and reminds him of the ways she used to send him off when he was a child. He's a grown man now, but she always will be his mother. "Don't stay out too late!"

The bus is in ship shape, at least regarding the circumstances he (they) live in. Capheus drops into the driver's seat, Will carefully sits down next to him.

"I really shouldn't stay this long."

It's like they can feel Whisper, ghosting along the periphery of their senses, searching, _searching_ –

"Just a little longer. We don't have fireworks here, but look…"

They watch a few children run down the dry road, chasing each other, laughing. There is beauty even in the forlorn desolation of Nairobi's slums.

"You smile just like your mother."

"I do?" Capheus is delighted. "She is a wonderful woman."

"I believe you."

The Kenyan hesitates. "You…"

"She died early."

"Oh."

Will smiles. "It's been a long time." His eyes are clear, but there is a strand of loneliness so dark and painful wrapped around his inner sense of calm that Capheus almost winces.

"She taught me never to give up. I'd do anything for her."

Will nods. "We all have something we need to protect in order to be able to survive."

The responses echo through the cluster. Glimpses of faces: dark eyes framed by thick glasses; heavy, colorful dreadlocks; ice-blue eyes in a finely shaped face. Emotions: hope, determination, fear, trust. Snapshots of sceneries: a sunset viewed from the flat roof of a house, the scent of jasmine heavy in the air. Coffee and rain. A stone circle above a city, loud music in a bar, the sting of alcohol.

And the knowledge that something is happening that will change them forever.

Already had.

* * *

 _v. Interlude_

He's always close these days, but sometimes it feels like he is even farther away than he was then they still were on opposing sides of the Atlantic.

Will's face is hollow and his eyes are glazed. His hands tremble. She can feel his disgust at what the drugs have made of him, the echo of his thoughts: _I'll never be like him – so easily said, isn't it? And there it goes._ The only way she finds she can react is to press herself against him, to curl up against his side and hide her face in the warmth that is his presence. She doesn't have the answers he craves. She never had answers, neither for herself nor for others.

He resurfaces slowly, fighting the aftereffects of the drugs almost desperately, and she waits with her breath bated. One of his first actions is to reach out to her, _really_ reach out, and suddenly she is enveloped by a sense that almost makes her shudder in something that feels very much like fear. Will's senses feel for her almost blindly, somewhat hastily, his heart beat speeds up and his fluttering hands search until his consciousness collides with hers in the explosion of something she can't name. Security, comfort, warmth, the promise of _something_ , the glimpse of love. It's overwhelming, and more than she can stand. Riley scrambles away, her breath coming in quick bursts, and struggles to stand.

Will's hand moves without him even opening his eyes and catches her hand unfailingly.

"Hey."

His voice is slightly slurry. But it's warm and familiar, too. It makes her want to move away further and scoot closer at the same time. _Fight what you deem worth fighting for_ , Lito thinks. And Sun adds, in her calm, quiet way. _You're not cursed. If you are, all of us are._ The flash of dark humor that follows obviously comes from Wolfgang. And despite everything, Riley is glad that he is there. The German anchors her, both in reality and with his thoughts. Their plan is unfinished and flawed, and the hopes are large enough to do ice fishing in them. But they will find a solution, together. _I'm working on it,_ Sun adds, absentmindedly. Nomi's fingers fly over her numerous keyboards. Kala and Capheus feed their link with belief and optimism.

"Hey." Riley moves closer again, tentatively, and looks into Will's steel-grey eyes.

A flash, and their positions are reversed: Will is looking down at her again. Blue eyes, blond hair, delicate features, and she is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. The smile appears slowly, first tugs at the corners of her lips, then spreads and reveals her dimples until it finally reaches her eyes. It makes him wonder what a woman like her would see in a man like him.

It is, she thinks, the other way round.

"You can't keep me like this forever."

Riley reaches out to touch his face. The feed-back doubles their perception: she feels the warmth of his skin and feels herself touching him, sees herself in his eyes and sees himself in hers. It's more than what they have with the others and yet oddly the same. Her lips move and the second she voices the words she already shakes her head, denying what they are only then going to voice.

"We're not giving up."

Will looks defeated. "Whisper will find me, and then he'll have you."

Riley gives up all pretense and climbs back onto the bed with him. She curls up at his side, lifting his arm to fit under it, and breathes in his scent.

"We'll find a solution."

Six other voices fiercely join to chorus her determination.

* * *

 _vi. Seoul_

"How are you holding up?"

"I should be the one asking you this. There's no danger for me here – at least, not like there is for you."

The cool stone wall has long ago become a familiar background for Sun – in many ways, too. The daily working hours, the supervised meals, the arrogance of the wardens, the free hours in the yard and the nightly vigils have burned themselves into her being. They have become her routine, her heart beat of life. She has already lost count of how often she has asked herself, in the semi-darkness of the prison night hours, if she ever will be able to return to her own rhythm once she is free. Then she thinks that she has been put away for a long, long time: if there ever was a way of redeeming herself, after all, it died with her father. And: she chose this, she knows, brought it upon herself. It was a noble thing to do for a father who didn't love her and a brother who didn't care for her; still she can't help resent herself for her decision. _You tried to save a brother who killed your father without remorse in order to save himself._ He wasn't worth her worry, never had been. And sometimes she thinks that she isn't worth this, either: she's nobody, nothing. Insignificant. This point – depression, dark and deep and overwhelming – is terribly familiar. _Worthless. Incapable._ Sun fights it like she did in the past, but the drag is terrible. She wishes her dog was there to give her company. Animals are so much more loyal than humans. There is no one, really, she wishes to see now, except for–

"Don't give up." Riley sits next to her in the way they have so often. London, Reykjavík, Seoul, a park in the morning, a boat on the river, a prison cell. It is like having a sister, only with her family record Sun would rather have a friend than another member of family who can betray her as easy as he breathes.

The blonde woman shifts, a glimpse of her own thoughts burying into Sun. _Coldness, despair._ She doesn't look at Sun but at Sun's hands, whose knuckles are still bruised from her outburst of anger a few days ago. She hasn't done it again, hitting the wall – it would be useless, either way – but she hasn't done anything to protect her injuries from further strain, either. It is her way of making a promise to herself.

"They won't win," Riley says and echoes Sun's thoughts, and only now they meet each other's eyes. Brown meets blue: they share a small smile. "We're stronger than them. They won't wear us down."

Her hands are soft and the Korean woman answers the gentle pressure with one of her own.

"I apologize. I really thought you would be safer there."

Riley frowns at her, confused. "Where?"

"In Iceland." Sun leans her head against the wall behind her. Outside, a small group of women pass, prisoners like her: they acknowledge her with a short nod. It's a sign of respect, one she has earned by herself. "I didn't – we didn't–"

"It's fine. You couldn't have known."

Sun feels Kala and Nomi echo her sorrow. Lito, Capheus and Wolfgang remain distant, as if they want to give them a moment of privacy. _Like sisters,_ Sun thinks, again. This is what it might feel like: the unconditional support, the closeness of minds. Sadness, but shared sadness. Shared strength.

Riley's sorrow and grief for her lost family still is overwhelming. It lurks in the background of their minds at any time of the day. Sometimes it remains hidden they almost forget it and then a small thing – an Island pony, a baby blanket, a line from a song – awakens it again and it comes crushing down with all its might. It hasn't abated with time. It mingles with Nomi's grief at the inability of her parents to accept who she is, with Kala's steadfast love for her large family that might not know what she feels but would do anything to make her happy, and with Sun's quiet love for her dead father who decided to do the right thing in the end and her helpless sense of responsibility towards a brother who has left her to rot in a prison in order to save his cowardly life. But instead of increasing, the pain remains… Calm. Not less, not more than it was, but bearable, perhaps.

"I knew it," Sun finds herself saying and is surprised at the fact that the words even leave her mouth. She never told anyone before, never would have confided in someone like this. But they… are special. "I knew he was a spineless coward. I always protected him because my mother asked me to. I thought… I thought that he would change. Or, perhaps, that there was something good in him. I hoped it would be enough: being there for him, helping him. Always cleaning up after him. But he never… he never changed. I guess it was just the way he was."

"Sometimes it's the hardest to just be watching people we love, unable to do anything."

"I shouldn't have volunteered to protect him in the first place."

"You would have regretted it for your entire life."

"I regret having done this."

"You don't. You regret what he became, not what you did. What you did was right. Maybe not juristically speaking, but it was _right._ "

"He killed _our father._ "

"He is a weak, weak man, and as such he resorted to horrible actions to save himself. He won't get away with it."

"Nobody will believe me…"

"We won't let him get away." Now, there is the strength of six (seven) other minds behind her words. Riley speaks them with a security that belies her sometimes weak appearance, and one eight of the fire in her eyes is her own. "It may take us some time, and we have to deal with Whispers first. But he won't get away."

Sun suspects some of the words spilling from her lips are Wolfgang's. The German has a rather surprisingly mile-wide streak of protectiveness, despite – or rather, _because_ – of his past. But Lito's stubbornness, Capheus' sense of justice, Nomi's experience, Kala's belief, Riley's kindness and even Will's strength echo in Riley's words. And, for some reason, Sun believes them.

"I'm glad I got to know you," Riley says with a shy smile. "I never had siblings, but…"

She doesn't finish the sentence but they know what she would have said. _We're sisters,_ the other women agree. _And so much more._

Sun smiles, the warmth of Riley's small hand real and comforting. Kala and Nomi's presence is less tangible but no less real. The men hover in the background, protective.

She never was gladder for the mysterious events that awakened their cluster.

* * *

 _vii. San Francisco_

Nomi has long ago accepted that the link the eight of them share is something that cannot really be explained.

In the beginning, when she had only learned about the tumor in her brain, she had thought she was having visions: of men and women living in different places, if not in different worlds. Of a Mexican actor terrified to show the world what he really felt, a cynic, most likely criminal German, a Chicago cop who could have stepped out of an _American Hero_ episode any time, of a kind and torn Indian scientist, a lost and broken Icelandic woman in London, a Korean woman ready to suffer for her beliefs and a happy-go-lucky Kenyan driving a painted van. But the visions were too clear, too real – the people in them so _familiar_ she could have cried – and as time went by it became more and more impossible for her to believe they didn't actually exist. When Will helped her escape from the hospital – that was when she became _sure._ Because Nomi is not weak: she can hack into high-security servers within seconds, she has a rap sheet longer than – okay, not comparing _this_ – and generally has trained herself to be a pain in the ass of certain authorities, including her parents. But she is not trained in lock-slicing, has no idea of basic cop training and most certainly cannot _drive._ So if her brain isn't just coming up with random skills she has always possessed but never had been able to tap before – and if she really, truly focusses on what she _feels_ – she knows that the seven other people she is currently sharing her life, her mind and her heart with are as real as she is.

She can't deny the connection she feels with her seven new-found other parts. The sense of completion, of being drawn together and being _more._ She has known them for such a short time and already sees them as a part of her. _Loves_ them as a part of herself. Maybe it's Amanita's influence, because she can't remember herself being so free with her love before.

"So that's what you do." The voice resounds from her left shoulder and Nomi almost jumps. Regardless her exponential increase in experience with running and hiding and even going on the offense, attacking and fighting she still has the _keep it calm and stay at home_ personality of computer geniuses that is often portrayed in novels and movies. Which means she likes working at home and being at home, and also that she _likes_ her home. And that intruders are not looked upon kindly.

"The hell? Have you ever heard of knocking?"

It's the one thing that she feels inexorably linked to all of them, can't imagine living on without them anymore. It's the other thing to be alone, working, and then to suddenly have a person appearing in your room from thin air.

"Ha, ha. What's up? Taking lessons from Kala?"

Also, there are some of her cluster Nomi feels more comfortable being with than others. In her case, specifically, _others_ means Wolfgang.

"She's absolutely right. If an asshole appeared in my bed stark naked, I wouldn't have reacted like her."

"What," Wolfgang asks and seems genuinely curious. "You would have screamed? Called the cops? _Sorry, I'm hearing voices and the bastards aren't knocking politely?_ "

Nomi chooses not to rise to his challenge. They all feel the mounting attraction between Kala and Wolfgang and they all know how much and why the Indian woman is fighting herself over the issue. She crosses her arms over her chest.

"Don't be stupid."

The German has already lost interest in her laptop anyway. He's wandering through her apartment, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. The leather jacket hangs off his shoulders – has he lost weight? – but his stature is still familiar. Nomi knows, from her own experience, that he's all muscles and strength, even if he doesn't look like it sometimes. She can see what Kala sees in him: he's attractive, in his own way. His smile is nice when it isn't tinged by the cynical lines around his eyes and the corners of his lips. And they have grieved with him, fought with him, despaired with him: Nomi knows him, and he is a part of her, too. She just can't reconcile the fact that she feels with this man – hurts with him, smiles with him – who is everything she would usually avoid like the plague.

"How are they?"

The question itself is stupid, because they both know the answer to it already. Still, Wolfgang halts, and turns back to her. His face has changed, or is she imagining it?

"She's holding up. We have to set the plan into motion, and quickly. We can't keep Will under all the time and it's just a matter of time until Whispers finds us."

"I know. We're working on it."

They are, they really are. The problem are obvious – they can't wake Will without him leading Whispers to them, they can't leave him drugged without serious repercussions, they can't do this, they can't do that. It's actually pretty clear what they _can't_ do, only what they _can do_ remains a challenge.

"At times like these," Wolfgang muses, "attack often is the best defense."

At that, Nomi bristles. "Violence is not the answer to everything."

"However, on occasion, a quite acceptable solution," Wolfgang shoots back.

This, Nomi thinks, may be the one reason why they don't get along, and it might be one in a million others. But are they her reasons or her excuses?

Wolfgang shrugs. "Listen, I know you don't like my… let's say, general approach to problem-solving. But you haven't found a different way these past few days, have you?"

There are people, and there are people. Some kinds just don't mix. Wolfgang and she are an example for those immiscible types of people: incompatible, unable to interact. Water and oil; brawn and brains. Nomi prefers talking, Wolfgang action; he isn't shy of lashing out, Nomi would rather be hurt than hurt others. Maybe it's their upbringing and their history; maybe it's just themselves. It's not that she hates him but she dislikes him for what he is. Arrogant and unselfconscious, quick and violent on occasion. The kind of man who wakes up in a woman's bed he doesn't know and never has seen before and stays there for one hour, watching her dress and teasing her. It's not wrong to be that self-confident: Nomi just doesn't like it.

Maybe it's because she doesn't possess this kind of self-confidence.

But her own sentiments aside she has been in Kala's shoes and in his, as well. She knows he has his good points: has seen his eyes when he looks at Kala, has felt the helpless longing, the determination to let her make her own decisions. She has sat with him at the hospital bed of his only family _(we are your family, now,_ whispers through their link) and grieved for his loss. She fought his cousin and his uncle with him, unwilling, but ready to help. He has helped her in the past, after all. And then, when everything was over, she hesitated and, at the same time, realized Wolfgang didn't hesitate at all. He didn't only board the plane to Iceland because he was the one closest to Will and Riley, or because he felt he couldn't stay in Germany any longer: he did so because he _wanted_ to help, _needed_ to help. He has a protective streak as wide as the moon, and Nomi knows this by now.

She doesn't _want_ to dislike him, but right now, she can't help it. She will probably need some time.

Wolfgang turns his head in her direction and a half-smile plays around his lips. His smile is crooked. "That's okay."

Nomi turns her face away and is glad that the others are otherwise occupied right now. Their link is blessedly quiet.

The screen of her computer lights up, telling her her attack has failed. Nomi feels her heart sink: this was one of the last two possibilities she had been able to think of. Now, there only is one path left to try, and if she doesn't succeed… She doesn't notice Wolfgang has come up behind her and is standing right at her elbow.

His hand rests on her head for a few seconds, and strangely, Nomi is soothed.

* * *

 _viii. Ciudad de Mexico_

"You are Catholic."

Kala regards the cross on its silver chain dangling in front of Lito's chest ( _and damn the good-looking ones are already taken or homosexual)_ and wonders why she said these words out loud. Does it matter? Lito looks up from the screen-play he's reading. There is a chair left at his table and Kala pulls it back and drops into it. They've learned that nobody is able to see them anyway but she still glances left and right. Wonders why it's always her ending up with the guys in cafes on the streets of their cities. Wonders what the waiter would say if Lito ordered another one of the small and creamy-looking dessert that sits in front of him rather lonely.

The Mexican actor smiles at her and pushes the dessert over. "Have it, _por favor_."

Kala smiles widely. "Thanks."

The treat is sweet and somewhat creamy, with a soft note of yoghurt. The scientist in her wonders: is she tasting the dessert by herself, or is she reliving a memory of Lito's taste of it? Maybe she could try finding out whether she would gain wait eating foreign desserts like that. Why didn't anyone think of it earlier? It would be the dream of many women.

The corner of Lito's mouth twitches when she tells him this. "I'd love to try something your father made, too."

For a while, they sit in silence. There's so much to see in Lito's world: his city, the place he lives in. Ciudad de Mexico. The plaza he is facing is almost empty, the summer sun beating down onto the pavement. Restaurants and cafes have covered their tables with all kinds of shades – color- and cheerful – but there's scarcely anyone on the streets at two in the afternoon. Lito is one of the few people sitting in the shadow outside because he likes to watch the people. Kala smiles as she feels the flow of affection rush through her: he's an actor, after all, and as such he loves to observe his surroundings consciously. Kala likes people more than she likes observing them, not that it matters much. They are still similar.

Lito's hands touch the cross on the chain around his neck almost unconsciously. Kala decides to try a second time.

"Are you Catholic?"

Lito snorts. "Are you a Hindu?"

"Well, yes, of course!"

"See? I was born in Mexico, grew up here. Of course I'm Catholic."

Saying one is a Hindu in India is stating a fact of life, not a life in itself, she has learned that much.

"Do you believe in your God, then?"

He looks at her, surprised she's making the difference. Mulls over his answer. Then answers: "Yes."

The word hangs in the air strangely lonely, full and yet empty, and doesn't seem enough to him.

"Even though…?" There's no need to complete her question. Kala waits while Lito works himself through the trapped, tangled net of his own mind.

"I believe in God, but I don't think the Church represents His will the way it is supposed to do."

"What do you mean?" She asks, but she thinks she might understand.

"I don't think the world was created in seven days," Lito explains. "I believe in a God that made evolution possible. A creative, a loving God. A God that can let go."

"So if the Church refuses to acknowledge same-sex relationships and…"

Even though it wouldn't be obvious to anyone watching, she can feel herself blushing. Kala's thankful for her sun-tanned skin but she hates the uncomfortable heat that creeps into her cheeks.

"Well, anyway," she fumbles on. "You never once doubted?"

Distantly, she can feel Nomi's snort, Wolfgang's disdain. _Religion, opium for the people._ They are different, maybe, Kala and Lito, her and the people who have been abandoned by those who were supposed to accept them as who they are, not as who they wanted them to be. The people who never found any reason to believe in _something_ because nobody ever would come to their aid when they needed it most. And it's sad – sad enough that it breaks her heart into tiny, irretrievable pieces. It wakes all the things she has always buried: the feelings, the hurt. Lito meets her eyes and they spin through it in seconds: pain, loss, loneliness on Lito's part, confusion and desperation on Kala's part, the knowledge that something incredibly precious was lost, the feeling of being utterly and incredibly alone even in a crowd of loving relatives. The helpless, aching sense of _needing_ something that is as ungraspable as the very air they breathe, and as vital.

"Oh, I did, at least I think I did. But my mother never wavered in her love for me and I figured He wouldn't, either. If He created a world in which such wonderful, accepting people existed, he wouldn't mind me. Being different. Whatever. And Hernando… It's difficult to see anything in him but a godsend." Lito smiles a half-smile, a corner of his lips lifting. "My father wasn't quite as easy to convince. But it's fine, isn't it? I don't have to explain myself to anyone. I won't force my belief unto anyone. This is me, living my life. Choosing my path." The bruises around his eyes have healed but he looks… stronger. Determined, different than when they met first. Kala very much likes this Lito. He reminds her of Will and Wolfgang and Capheus: unwavering hearts.

Yes, she understands. Kala is a scientist to the core but she also is a devout Hindu. She doesn't think those two facts cancel each other out.

"Do you think everything that has happened so far happened for a reason?" Lito puts down the screen-play he had been using as a somewhat-screen and pulls out his phone and head set.

"You mean, whether we were chosen?"

"Yes. No." Lito's hand dances through a stray sunray on his left. "It's like the world throws me curve balls. Challenges. Dani, Hernando – our cluster. I don't know. I wish…"

The response is so abrupt, so sudden, that both of them start.

 _No!_

Five (six) other voices whisper-scream denial, and Kala and Lito exchange a smile.

"No," he says, slowly. "No, you're right. I am glad I met you. I wouldn't want to miss you." His _you_ carries the names of seven other people, and Kala feels the link relax. If she thought they couldn't be closer anymore she is proven wrong once again.

God, she loves them–

And then a scream shatters their link and everything falls apart.

* * *

 _ix. Nairobi/San Francisco/Reykjavík/Ciudad de Mexico/Seoul_

"Capheus."

She looks better these days, he thinks. She's not well-dressed and made-up anymore but wears the shape- and colorless prison garbs she was issued. And still, she looks… more centered? Calmer? Capheus thinks thank God she does not feel so terribly _hollow_ anymore.

More _alive_.

Sun was a shadow before, the shadow of the woman she could be. Now she has edges, contours, eyes that are clear and deep. There is rage simmering underneath her skin like heat dancing over hot pavement in Nairobi during midday, and it worries him. But he also thinks that she has proven to them more than once that she is in control of herself and that she directs her anger into something useful. Okay, so attacking her brother in clear sight of the wardens and splitting her knuckles open on the walls of her cell afterwards might not have been the ideal way of anger-venting. But the circumstances were different then. His heart breaks a bit more every time he thinks about her – about this strong, lonely, determined woman that was left by her mother and her father and now by her brother, as well. Who has lost everything.

But not _everyone._ And if there is any way possible in this world, Capheus won't let her drift out of their cluster.

Riley's voice is a faint echo, but it is there. It carries the hint of her fragile smile and the desperate wish to believe in second chances. The taste of Wolfgang's determination and of Will's strength are similar but different, flavored by the two men that, somehow, have become the heart and the arm of their group. Nomi's voice is quieter because she is so busy but she drifts over every now and then, the sharp edges of her intellect pressing against their combined consciousness. Lito, pulling strings from within the High Society (B-class type) that is Mexico's Hollywood, and Kala, beginning to investigate the murder of her maybe-probably-soon-to-be-husband (Capheus believes in love at first sight but also in stable, familiar love that grows over time), are the ones responsible for their faith. Sun is their moral compass, now and forever, without question. And Capheus… Capheus doesn't think himself particularly important, except for one thing.

"Hello, Korean Lady!"

At his nickname, Sun almost smiles. He likes it when she does that – it makes her seem younger, somehow. More free.

"So this is where you live." She looks around, takes in the dust streets of Nairobi through the open window of the Van Damne. "It looks…"

"Dusty?" He applies, helpfully, and chuckles. "Simplistic?"

"It looks like people live here," Sun replies, quietly. Her short hair dances in the breeze.

"Well, yeah." Suddenly, he is uncomfortable. It hasn't happened before. Capheus has seen the ways his friends live, and the ways his cluster lives. He has seen the world through the window that is his TV and he never really felt envy at them for their paved streets and steel-and-glass buildings, or even for the natural, almost feral loneliness of Riley's island. But the other way round – what did his cluster think when they saw the kind of life that was his? What did Sun think? "It's not Seoul."

"No." The Korean woman leans back and closes her eyes briefly, and the small smile is back. "It's definitely not Seoul."

This, Capheus figures, seems to be good. He smiles, and leaves her to her own observations for some time.

At the next stop, two elder women and a man get on. Sun watches them carefully and almost smiles when the two women sit and immediately start discussing loudly. The man greets Capheus and they chat a while even after the bus has taken up his journey again. When he gets off twenty minutes later, Sun is still there.

"I'm sorry," she says when she notices his glance. "Am I disturbing you?"

"Not at all." Gravel under the Van Damme allows him to talk to her without arousing the elder ladies' suspicion. Capheus smiles to his left. "Stay as long as you have the time for."

"Time?" Sun quirks a brow. "I am in prison. I have plenty of time on my hands." She doesn't sound bitter.

"You don't sound bitter about that."

"Bitter?" She echoes, thoughtfully. "Maybe not bitter. Angry… Yes, definitely. Disappointed. But bitter?" Sun shrugs her shoulders. "There's no point in wallowing in self-pity."

"I try not to be angry too often," Capheus returns, cheerfully. "The weather's too beautiful for it."

Sun turns her head to look at him fully, and then she smiles. "You have a point."

They ride a few more kilometers in silence: dusty roads and dusty, make-shift slum houses, ducked, like animals. Children playing on the streets. The sounds are familiar and, at the same time, alien to Capheus: like looking at a picture with two pairs of eyes. Maybe that's exactly what he is doing here: looking at the place he grew up in and which he loves. And, at the same time, knowing that this is _not_ his home. That he lives – lived – in a modern apartment with a view of Seoul's skyline (in a house in Reykjavík in an apartment in San Francisco in Berlin in Chicago in a house in Bombay in a loft in Mexico City) but that the feeling that comes with all these places, undoubtedly, is…

 _Home._

He glances at Sun and she is looking at him: they exchange a smile.

"Home is not only a place," she says and Capheus knows what she means exactly. Because home, to him, never was the small one-room hut he shared with his mother since they came to Nairobi: home, to him, _was_ his mother. And in Sun's eyes he can see that she understands.

"My mother…"

She lets the words hang there, between them, like a softly flickering candle. It lights the shadows, but it isn't bright enough to blind them. And Capheus doesn't need her to finish the sentence to make him understand.

"I know."

There is a thought that has crossed his mind before and that now returns: they are similar. They care for the cluster in a similar way, something that has nothing to do with strength and the will to use their combined consciousness and everything to do with the people that are part of it. All eight of them are adults in every sense of the word: grown-ups in their own right, with all the rights and duties it entails. And all of them have parents, be it that they are alive or dead, might their existence be disappointing or beloved and cherished. If someone can understand him, it's Sun, because they're similar: they care for their cluster, and they want to protect it. All of them want that, really, even Wolfgang in his awkwardness and desperate tries to be more than just a violent reaction he has trained himself to be has proven that he cares for the others. But Sun and Capheus… They feel like they're the parents, in a way, and it is strange and completely natural at the same time. Wolfgang and Will can fight for themselves, they have shown so often enough. Nomi has her own way of protecting herself and them. Lito and Kala are soft-hearted but determined, in positions in which they will be able to achieve something. Riley is broken right now, but she is picking herself up. She is the smallest one, the baby of the family – but she's not a burden, never will be. Both Sun and Capheus want nothing more than to protect these beautiful, weak, strong people whose thoughts they share. It's a paradox, really, because Capheus is not a Van Damme and Sun is in prison. But they can help, in their own way. It's not exactly that they feel like parents who protect their children: it's more. But it's similar, as well.

 _Shift._

Their quiet understanding is shattered by Riley's scream.

Sun tenses in the passenger's seat as Capheus' hands clench around the steering wheel; immediately, they are focused and ready to fight. Sun throws him a grim glance.

"Go," he says and she vanishes with a last, grim nod, they know what they have to do, who has which role to fulfil.

Riley's panicked thoughts are quieted by Will's silent determination, he's conscious, somehow, and he's conscious of the danger they're in. Nomi is already working, a cool, calculated presence in the back of their minds. Kala's soothing thoughts wrap around Riley. _It's fine, it's fine. It will be alright. Stay calm._ Wolfgang's raw strength explodes into their bond: _He's here! I can't distract him–_ Nobody has to ask who he is talking about. Will's heart – _we have to go –_ and Lito's stubborn belief: _Let me do the talking._ – _If you look at him, you'll have me to deal with,_ Kala almost-threatens, and Wolfgang throws her a mocking smile but honesty is so clear in his eyes that Capheus can't help but feel pride at his stubborn determination. _I'll be careful, Princess._

They always knew the peace of Riley's home in Iceland was only a temporary reprieve.

 _Ready_ , Nomi's voice flashes through them. _Just do as we planned, and he'll walk into the trap._ She sounds oddly satisfied. Whispers threatened her already, too, she knows of the terror the man creates first-hand.

 _I hate that we can't do anything from here._

Sun's voice, for Capheus only. He knows how she feels – he's in the same situation. What can he do from the other side of the world?

 _Sun? Capheus?_ Riley's voice is full of fear, but she's determined to make it. _Are you there? God, don't leave, please._

Capheus feels Sun touch Riley soothingly. _We're here. We'll fight with you._

They will.

Together.

Capheus knows it: this is his cluster, these are his precious friends, and he won't let anything happen to them.

 _Bring it on_ , Nomi says, grim.

Their cluster link suddenly explodes with colors and sounds. Nomi presses Enter and squeezes Amanita's hand hard enough to restrict her circulation but the dark-skinned woman only smiles. That second, a few dozen of very interesting files are mailed to several different FBI agents all over the states. Wolfgang, Riley and Will speed over the freeway, aided by Capheus. Lito, Hernandez and Dani show their plane tickets at the Gate and smile as the attendant wishes them a pleasant journey. Kala closes her eyes and recites the press release she will deliver in a few seconds one last time in her mind. And Capheus knows that Sun, somewhere in the Southern hemisphere, stands in her small cell and waits for the moment her cluster will need her hand-to-hand combat skills.

It makes him smile: _we are one._

Together, they will fight.

They will live.


End file.
